Forking Paths
by Yayoi Reito
Summary: A series of AU oneshots featuring 8059...#3, Mayonaka: Yamamoto never thought he'd wake up to something so very unexpected: an incubus..and he is the prey.
1. Kurogane

"**KUROGANE"**

**By Yayoi Reito**

**Forking Paths Series Fic #1**

**A/N: **I started this fanfic a long time ago, and left it on hiatus for a while cause of schoolwork. Ended it just recently, and I don't think this is the way I had initially intended it to turn out. *sigh* Anyway, the first of the YamaGoku Forking Path Fics, a series of AU fics starring everyone's fave baseball nut and pyromaniac. Haha. And an additional note. The term "dying will" used here is not the same as in the KHR universe (aka flames and all that).

**Disclaimer:** If KHR was mine, it would have been a yaoi show, ok?

============_KUROGANE_============  
============_KUROGANE_============  
============_KUROGANE_============  
============_KUROGANE_============  
============_KUROGANE_============

Yamamoto first met Hayato when the fair-haired boy was only six.

At that time, Yamamoto was still a low-ranking shinigami working under the Vongola sect headed by his friend, Sawada Tsunayoshi. He and a few colleagues—Hibari Kyoya, Rokudo Mukuro, Sasagawa Ryohei—had been sent to fetch a number of departed souls. Usually, it took only one shinigami to fetch souls, but apparently, there was a large scale murder of some sort, and so four of them were deployed.

He did not know the actual details, but he did know that there had been a battle between two families and that resulted in a mass murder. The place they were sent to was a large mansion, the majesty of which was ruined by the large number of corpses strewn all over the place. It was not difficult to tell that there had been an ugly struggle, with various weapons—guns, swords, daggers—scattered among the bodies. Yamamoto was initially mortified at the sight; it was the first time he had seen so much bloodshed, even as a shinigami. He and Ryohei actually suffered from a wave of nausea and took a few minutes to rest before they could begin their job.

Yamamoto found Hayato covered by bodies of dead women. He was planning to extract the soul of one of the women who had long, silvery hair and was wearing a beautiful gown which, he imagined, would have looked so magnificent before it was stained by so much blood. When he was about to perform the extraction, a small shaking hand reached up and grabbed his wrist. That was when the shinigami discovered the gray-haired boy, his clothes tainted with the blood of the women as well as with the blood coming from a wound on his chest. Despite his weakened state, he boldly warned Yamamoto to stay away from his mother—the woman in the white dress—or the boy would, according to his own words, "beat him up." He was obviously not going to survive the gunshot wound he had, even with immediate medical attention. It would have taken only a few more minutes for him to eventually stop breathing, and for Yamamoto to extract his soul as well. However, the shinigami felt an unusual urge to save the boy. An urge he could not explain. Before he knew it, he was looking into the boy's misty green eyes.

"I'll grant you one wish," he told the boy, who stared back at him. "For now, I'll let you live, and I'll help you fulfill whatever you wish for."

"Whatever I wish for?" The boy's grip tightened slightly. "A-anything?" The shinigami watched the large green eyes sparkle with determination. Perhaps, he thought, it was the boy's dying will that enticed him. A dying will so strong that it managed to attract and coax a pacifist shinigami such as Yamamoto to create a contract. With a child, nonetheless.

Yamamoto was well aware of what that would entail for the boy. A contract with a shinigami would mean the mortal bound by it would become an eternal slave in the Afterlife, stripped of any control over him- or herself. The dark-haired shinigami tried to get a hold on himself, but he felt so lightheaded. The boy's dying will was like a dose of heroin to a death god. He tried his best to explain the consequences, but nevertheless, the child still accepted the deal, sealing it by mingling his blood with Yamamoto's and bearing the mark of bondage (an inverted cross at the center of a pentagram) on the back of his neck.

His wish? "Help me kill my father."

From then on, Yamamoto found himself bound to Gokudera Hayato, the illegitimate son of an Italian mafia boss and a famous Japanese pianist. Thecause of the battle that brought about the death of all those people was the discovery of Hayato's existence. His father's mafia family did not approve of members with illegitimate children, and so, for fear of losing his position, Hayato's father ordered the assassination of his own son, which his mother attempted to stop.

As promised, the shinigami became bound to Hayato and his wish. He left the Vongola shinigami sect to devote himself to his part of the deal. Yamamoto took on the guise of a human and became the boy's bodyguard, still wielding the sword he used as a death god, but keeping his powers hidden unless necessary.

The experience of losing his mother at an early age and exposure to such brutality turned Hayato into a bitter child. He frowned most of the time, and if he was not frowning his face was just blank. There was always a cold glare in his green eyes, and so Yamamoto could only imagine how beautiful those eyes would be if Hayato would only smile.

Another thing that made Hayato different from other children was that at an early age, he was already calculating and clever, though he may be brash at times. The boy was able to make use of Yamamoto's skills to their fullest extent. The shinigami never thought someone so young could scheme so flawlessly and intricately. In the span of a few years, Hayato, with Yamamoto by his side, managed to become the leader of his own mafia group—at the age of twelve.

The boy that one lay half-dead underneath his mother's bloody corpse grew into a feared young man, untouchable thanks to the swordsman that always stayed at his side and successfully protected him from any danger and eradicated his enemies.

As for Yamamoto, being by his young master's side gave him an unusual feeling of devotion and protectiveness. He catered to every whim, even though some proved to be childish (such as having the shinigami as the one who woke him up every morning and bring him breakfast even though Hayato already had maids to do so). He made sure any threat or potential harm was stopped even before it could have the boy within its range.

It was more of a game at first, for Yamamoto. He was a knight designated to protect the prince(ss) from all evil lords and wizards out to get him. He enjoyed living in the human world, training himself in the process. Before he knew it, he was a far cry from that low-ranking death god that made a contract with a dying boy. His view regarding the contract also changed. It was no longer despicable or intolerable. He actually came to accept the eventual end of the deal with Hayato: that he would have to take his life and take him as a slave in the Afterlife. Yamamoto did not feel appalled at the idea of having the boy tied to him forever, but there was still that nagging sense of guilt and discomfort that he could not brush away. After all, he thought, Hayato was still a kid.

All that changed, though, on Hayato's fourteenth birthday. Yamamoto realized he had been gone from the shinigami world for eight years. He missed Tsuna and everyone else, yes, and he always felt glad when he encountered any of them in the mortal world (such as when he saw Hibari in the company of a blonde mortal).

What really reminded him of the time he spent, though, was Hayato. He grew into a beautiful young man, adored by women and men alike. It felt like it was only then that Yamamoto was able to look at his master: soft ash-colored hair, smooth and pale skin, alluring green eyes, supple pink lips.

He never felt so attracted before. And it did not help that Hayato made it a point to always have the shinigami by his side. Whenever the older (since Yamamoto looked like a mortal in his early twenties) of the two would leave Hayato, the latter would immediately look for him, seize him by the collar, glare at him, and growl through his teeth before unleashing a barrage of obscenities that the death god had gotten used to over time.

Hayato's teeth, Yamamoto always noticed, still remained pearly white despite the young man's tendency to chain smoke (which began when he was twelve).

Sonewhere along the way, Yamamoto realized the pesky little brat had metamorphosed into a presence that inexplicably suffocated him. Hayato's slightest movements affected him in the oddest of ways. When their shoulders brushed together, Yamamoto felt something akin to an electric shock, which would often result to him jumping away from his confused master. Whenever he would listen to Hayato speak, he would find himself getting lost in a trance that would only be broken when the young man would call out his name in irritation. There was also that feeling of warmth that would spread throughout his face should Hayato be "too close for comfort."

Yamamoto knew very well that his young master already noticed the change in the way the interacted. The swordsman always managed to avoid unwanted interrogations, but he could clearly tell that Hayato was suspicious through the way he glanced at him time and again. But how was he supposed to explain his actions when he could not even understand it himself?

He never considered it to be love. He cared for his young master, of course, but he never took it romantically. He was a shinigami and Hayato was human. Once the latter's wish was fulfilled, Yamamoto was going to kill him and have him as his slave. By then, Hayato would be a mindless specter, who can think only of accepting and obeying orders from him and would be utterly devoid of emotion or expression.

The way his body involuntarily shuddered at such an image told Yamamoto that he had not yet entirely accepted the would-be end of the deal, unlike his earlier thoughts on the matter. Oddly enough, he found himself hoping that the contract with Hayato would go on forever.

Unfortunately, the moment he came into Hayato's office that day with those green eyes bearing the look he had not seen for eight years, he knew it was time.

Hayato scheduled the assault at midnight, and only had a select few come with him and Yamamoto. It was obvious that their number would not be enough to ensure a win, but Hayato insisted to have "as less casualties as possible." With the tone of his voice, the shinigami knew that the gray-haired youth was aware that whether his group won or lost, he would no longer return alive.

Throughout the whole operation, Yamamoto could not nstop the rapid beating in his chest. If he had been a mortal, it would have been like his heart was racing, so to speak, but a shinigami does not have a mortal heart, only an immortal spirit.

His hazy mind could barely register the number of men he fought. It was like his body was on autopilot, and his actual self was locked someplace else where he can only watch his body swing his blade in that familiar and calculated manner. He tried to focus, he really did, but that goddamn beating refused to die down, and it sounded so much—_so much_–like that ticking of a clock.

Like the ticking of a countdown.

Hayato did not seem to be affected at all. For a person who used dynamites as weapons, his attacks were very precise and well-controlled. Making their way through the mansion was a fairly easy job, and soon Yamamoto stood in front of the door that separated Hayato from the man who had ordered his assassination eight years ago.

At that moment, the shinigami once again sensed that addicting dying will. Before he can even get his hand on the door handle, Hayato swiftly walked past him, kicking the door open and sending a stick of his specialized dynamite into the room before any of the occupants had time to react. The blast shattered the large windows and covered everything in a blanket of thick gray smoke. Yamamoto held his arms in front of him to shield himself from the flying pieces of rock and wood that came from the explosion. Hayato, however, stood undaunted in front of him.

The gray-haired young man did not wait for the smoke to disappear before entering the destroyed room. A number of bodies were strewn all over the floor along with the debris. Hayato did not even stop to examine the result of his handiwork, but walked straight on toward the far end of the room, where an unconscious man was caught underneath a large piece of the wall that had fallen off. Yamamoto did not have to recognize the man's face to know that he was the reason for the aura of anger emanating from his young master.

"Sword," Hayato thrust his open hand toward the shinigami. Yamamoto blinked. "Takeshi, I said 'sword.'"

"You don't have to dirty your hands. I can do it. It's my job, anyway."

"It's mine. Your job is to kill someone else."

Yamamoto was unable to reply, and reluctantly handed over his sword. He watched in silence as his master, shaking, lifted the blade above his head, eyes full of anger staring down at the unmoving body before him.

All those years waiting and working, and everything just for that moment when Yamamoto's sword is thrust into the body of the man who was the cause of it all. There was no dramatic spill of blood or any battle to the death, ironically. Just one swift thrust. That was all.

Yamamoto was quick to catch his master when he fell back, shaking uncontrollably and with tears flowing from his green eyes. Hayato did not say anything and clung to the other male's shirt, burying his face into his chest. The shinigami let him cry, arms wrapped around the shaking shoulders and his nose nuzzling the soft gray locks.

The taller of the two expected the boy to weep until he fell asleep, but Hayato suddenly grabbed his wrist (those delicate hands were still shaking) and said, "Here…kill me here…"

Yamamoto stiffened. Unconsciously, he was expecting that after the encounter, he would simply carry a sleeping Hayato home, exhausted by all the physical, mental, and emotional stress that drained his young body. Now, it was his time to face the end of those years of waiting.

He could not move his hand. Nor any part of his body, for that matter. It was Hayato who retrieved the sword from his father's body and who put it in the shinigami's limp hand. It was Hayato who guided Yamamoto's unmoving limb and pressed the edge of the weapon against his pale neck. "Takeshi…" His voice, normally so determined and strong, was submissive and—dare Yamamoto say it?—content. He closed his eyes. "We had a deal."

Yamamoto never thought that there would come a time when he would detest keeping his word. The voices debating in his head were enough to drive him mad. What's more, the sight of Hayato's face so close, eyes shut in an act of surrender to his fate, the blade that would seal it held against his neck, made his emotions run wild again.

There was no running away now, he finally realized. What he had been denying all that time struck him back in the face: He was in love with Hayato, but he was the one who will kill him.

Hayato felt himself abruptly pulled into a tight one-armed embrace, lips crashing onto his own. The kiss was utterly unexpected, but Hayato was soon responding fervently, revealing to the shinigami the extent of his own affections, and somehow also telling him he was fine with this.

A feeling of heaviness in his chest and unspoken words flowing through their locked lips, the shinigami raised his sword and pushed it in through the body that he strove to protect—to _cherish—_for so long.

"I love you." Whether it was Hayato or the shinigami who spoke, the words rang in Yamamoto's ears as he brought the lifeless form closer to him, bathing the pale face with kisses he was not able to give before.

==========_EPILOGUE_==========  
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"Could it be? Yamamoto?"

Yamamoto turned around and saw Tsuna and Mukuro, dressed in black suits that made them appear like a pair of young dashing businessmen. "Oi, Tsuna! How've you been?"

The spiky-haired young man smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "Pretty good. Things in the Vongola sect are running smoothly, though of course everyone misses your company. It's been fourteen years, huh?"

"Yeah." Yamamoto flashed a grin and swung his backpack over his shoulder. Tsuna raised his hand and compared their heights. "Wow! Even at fourteen, you're already so tall!"

"It's because of the exercise." He showed the two young men his bag, which had a handle of a baseball bat poking out from it. "Playing baseball is fun and it helps me keep in shape too. You should try some sports, Tsuna."

Tsuna just chuckled. "You know I'm not really good at sports. You were always the athletic one." His face suddenly saddened and he placed a hand on the teen's shoulder. "You look really happy, Yamamoto."

"Yeah. Mortal life actually isn't that hard as expected."

Mukuro came up from behind Tsuna and put his arm around the sect leader, making him blush profusely. "I'm glad we ran into you, Yamamoto, but Tsunayoshi and I still have some business to attend to. We have some souls to fetch."

"It's okay. It was really nice to see shinigami again. Say hi to the others for me."

Mukuro steered Tsuna away, but the smaller male managed to look back and say, "I'd like to meet him some time—that Gokudera Hayato. I never did get a glimpse of him ever since you asked to be incarnated. I'd like to see the new him."

"Next time, boss!" Yamamoto waved goodbye, feeling nostalgic at how he called Tsuna "boss." He was no longer a shinigami after all.

"Oi! Takeshi!" Yamamoto turned to his left just in time to see Hayato running toward him, the shirt of his high school uniform unbuttoned and a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. "You bastard! You said your baseball practice ends at four! I went back to school but Shinohara said you already left."

"Ah, sorry about that. We finished early and I was about to send you a message when I ran into some friends."

"Those two guys in the suits, you mean?" Hayato started rummaging in his pockets for something. "They looked like they were twenty or something. Can't believe you knew people like them and never told me." He pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette. "Are they your dad's business partners?"

Yamamoto smiled and snatched the cigarette from the green-eyed boy's mouth. He dropped it onto the ground and put it out with his shoe, much to Hayato's astonishment. "I told you to quit smoking so much. You already had two sticks today. And no, they aren't dad's colleagues. Just friends I knew from a long way back."

"You sound like you're so old. You're just fourteen, you know." Hayato tch-ed and stared at his feet, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "You looked really glad to see them too," he mumbled, almost too low for Yamamoto to hear.

The taller male smiled and embraced him. "You're so cute when you're jealous, Hayato!"

"W-what! Let go, you perverted baseball freak!" Hayato pushed him away and walked off, but he went slowly enough for the other to catch up. Yamamoto smiled and ran to his side, clasping Hayato's hand tightly in his own.

"I won't let you go this time, you know."

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**  
A/N: ***cries* Damn, the ending looks so rushed again, and I really do think that ending did not come out as initially planned. Yeah, but I actually get the urge to do a sequel for this. _After_ I finish the other Forking Paths fics. =_= Which would probably take some time since school is just around the corner. Good news though. The books we're supposed to read this term may give me much inspiration (after all, FP are AU fics), so well, yeah. Here's the "pilot episode," if you may. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


	2. Niji Iro

"**NIJI IRO"**

**By Yayoi Reito**

**Forking Paths Series Fic #2**

**A/N: **Finally managed to finish the second fic. A miracle since I managed to squeeze it in between my one month vacation and the start of class. *sigh* Oh well, this was inspired by some sort of idea I got after reading a short story somewhere…Gokudera was supposed to be a writer (I can imagine him with the glasses and all), but somewhere along the way, it changed. Geez. Words manage to outwit me all the time. To those who may be looking for Gokudera going all "Juudaime! Juudaime!" sorry, but this being an AU, Tsuna would not be the Vongola Tenth. Just bear with my changes because I am not really sure how I was supposed to do it. =_=

**Disclaimer:** If KHR was mine, it would have been a yaoi show, ok?

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His power was an inheritance from his mother. It was the kind of power only their bloodline had, and upon his mother's death and without any clue whether his relatives on his mother's side were still alive, it was the kind of power only _he _had.

He had sworn in front of his mother's grave that he would refrain from using it. He did not mind being colorblind—the stigma of that godforsaken power—for the rest of his life. Whether he used it or not, the colors would all still disappear anyway. What was important was to avoid letting the power destroy him, as it did his mother.

Had he known moving into Namimori would lead him down the same path, he would have just stayed in Italy and let his bastard of a father make millions out of him.

He has always considered love as a fickle emotion, turning the strongest people into weak-kneed cowards and driving them to near insanity. That is why those who are susceptible to love's control are weak and gullible—most especially those who fall into the trap of the phantoms who enter their dreams, who drive them crazy so that they would seek for him, the only one who can grant those phantoms bodies, voices, lives.

He did not care much when the first few people from Namimori came to him, seeking the "painter," as they called him. Right from the beginning, he already knew what they wanted: lovers from that "other world"—the world of their dreams, of idolized men and women that fit perfectly with them, were they only tangible and breathing.

And that is where the "painter" comes in.

They were easy—the first few jobs. Those people were not related to him whatsoever. They were merely high school girls who somehow learned of him and his unique ability (through that perverted Dr. Shamal, no doubt) and came to him to ask him to bring their dream lovers to life.

He would have been fine doing his job if only his friends never found out about it.

It was all that baseball freak's fault. He was the one who dragged everyone along to his apartment to surprise him on his birthday. He never needed it anyway. He had a request that day, and he had just finished the painting, just finished saying the name that sealed the magic spell, when they all barged in, just in time to see the figure on the painting solidify and then disappear, off to meet the person who requested for him to be brought to life.

That was a day he would regret for the rest of his life. The day that he found himself walking down the path he wanted to avoid—the path that drove his mother to her grave.

How could he forget how those large innocent eyes he learned to love widened in wonder when they saw what his powers can do, how they glittered with amazement as he explained to everyone the nature of his ability—the "other world," his paintings as spells of bringing phantoms to life—and the way they looked so earnest and almost desperate as he—he should have known, should have seen it coming—_pleaded_ to him to bring his own phantom to life.

"Gokudera? Hey! You there, Gokudera?" The creaking of his apartment door shook some sense of reality back into him, though the sound of the voice made him want to sink into his own private world once again. He heard the footsteps, and then the flick of the light switch.

He cursed and buried his head in his hands. "Tch! You fuckin' bastard!"

"Ah! Gokudera! I'm so sorry!" Those kind hands, calloused by years of playing baseball, held him by the shoulders and steered him away from the painting he was working on for a week and let him sit on the bed. His hands were gently pulled away from his face and he slowly opened his eyes. It took a while, but when his monochrome vision cleared, he saw the face he would rather not see as of the moment. "Yamamoto, you idiot! Don't go opening lights all of a sudden!"

Yamamoto exhaled. He looked so relieved and troubled at the same time. "I'm sorry. I forgot your eyes are pretty sensitive since everything's in black and white." He rubbed the top of Gokudera's head before moving to the only table in the room and setting down a plastic bag. "I brought some sushi today. Had dad make some extra."

Gokudera wiped the tears away from his face. The sudden blast of light really was too much. "What for? Like I need a baseball nut like you to watch over me like a mother hen."

A warm chuckle. Gokudera always hated the sound of that laugh. "Oh, come on, Gokudera. I'm sure you haven't been eating well. Even in school, you're usually just locked up in the art or music room during break."

"And how would you know that? Were you stalking me?" Gokudera got off the bed and walked over to the other boy, who had proceeded to unpack the sushi he brought.

"Ah, something like that. Which one would you like? I brought _kani, ebi, _and _tamago_."

The weakened youth slid into a chair, eyes fixed on his taller friend. "_Kani. _You can have the _ebi_ and _tamago_."

"Really? Wah, thanks!" Yamamoto sat down at the other side of the table, parallel to him and started to eat. The grin that Gokudera had gotten used to (somehow) was plastered over his face. Honestly, was there ever a time when that idiot was not happy? "Oh, right! Tsuna was asking about you this morning."

His heart skipped a beat. "Ts-Tsuna…?"

"Yeah. He was wondering why you weren't going to school anymore. He was supposed to come with me, but something came up and he had to go back home."

Gokudera's gaze fell to his lap. Tsuna wanted to see him? Had Yamamoto said it under normal circumstances, without the knowledge of Gokudera's ability thrown into the mix, he would have felt glad. But now…that was highly unlikely. Tsuna probably wanted to come see if he had punished the painting already.

"Hey, Gokudera." The one addressed looked up, Yamamoto's gray figure dancing in a pool of tears. "Wait…you're crying?"

He stood up, slamming his hands on the table. "Shut up! This is all your fault, baseball freak! If you and Tsuna hadn't…" Ah, the tears flowed, finally. He knew bottling it up for a week was not good. He was bound to explode sooner or later.

He sank to the floor, face buried in his palms. Exactly what happened to his mother. He was repeating everything. Creating a phantom for the one you love so that he could throw you away.

The only good thing was he could not be impregnated with an unwanted child. And he never had a relationship with Tsuna, other than being best friends.

"O-oi! Gokudera…" He heard Yamamoto stand up and run to him, and then he felt himself suddenly drawn into an embrace, one hand rubbing his back and the other on the back of his head.

It was embarrassing, of course, but after breaking down in front of Yamamoto a couple of times before, Gokudera found his barriers not as solid around him as before. At least he knew Yamamoto was not the type who went around spreading things that should be kept private.

Besides, though he would never admit, Yamamoto had this presence that somehow calmed him down.

"My bad, Gokudera. Sorry for bringing that up."

"Yeah. Stupid as always." Gokudera managed a soft chuckle, Yamamoto loosened his embrace and placed his arms on the other male's shoulders, smile in place. "Yeah. I know. Sorry 'bout that."

Finally finding himself pacified and with his thoughts in order, Gokudera broke away from Yamamoto and went over to the bed. He plopped down on one side, facing away from his companion. He looked at the canvases lined up against one wall of his room. They were portraits of various people, done in various media, and with every picture bursting with color. In Gokudera's eyes, however, everything was in grayscale.

The spot beside him dipped. It was Yamamoto. "Is that one Tsuna's?" He pointed to the picture directly in front of Gokudera. The paint was still fresh. It looked like it was finished fairly recently.

The painter nodded. "I didn't expect to use so many dark colors. I thought the phantom in Tsuna's dreams would be someone bright. Someone like Kyoko, I guess."

"Just means we can't tell everything about a person, no matter how close we are to him." Yamamoto leaned back, supporting himself on his hands. "He looks weird and scary at the same time. And his hair makes him look like a pineapple. Are you sure you didn't do that on purpose?"

"Stupid! My hand works in automatic when I draw! And I would just be utterly pathetic if I even think of doing a joke like that!" Gokudera grabbed his pillow and playfully throw it at a laughing Yamamoto, who easily caught it in his trained hands. "Ah! I know, I know! I was just kidding!"

The pale artist swung one foot over the other, using his knee as support for his elbow and then resting his chin on his palm. "I guess I was just prolonging the inevitable," he said, his voice sounding far away and the look in his eyes quite sad and submissive. "I was trying to keep it off for as long as possible, but maybe just pushing through with it would be better."

Gokudera felt Yamamoto jump in shock as he let out an exasperated yell. The painter knew the other boy did not anticipate what he did, judging from his reaction, and the half-Italian chuckled to himself. Then he took a deep breath and recalled the name he had pushed into the deepest recesses of his memory in the hopes of actually forgetting it.

"Rokudo Mukuro."

The two of them watched as his painting glowed in a bright light. Gokudera has seen the process so many times. Yamamoto, only twice. A thread of light broke away from the painting and floated to the floor. It spun around, an endless string that continuously untangled itself from the bulk of the painting, and started to weave itself into a human figure, from the feet up.

It took only a minute, and the two boys found themselves staring at a young man roughly around their age, in a green middle school uniform. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed, unlike in his portrait where there was a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. Gokudera stared at him for a few passing moments before he turned his head away and the figure disappeared into wisps of odorless smoke.

"So that's his name, huh? Rokudo Mukuro." The bed bounced as Yamamoto stood up. He walked over to the portrait and picked it up, running his eyes over Gokudera's latest work. "And the uniform he's in looked familiar too."

"Kokuyo Middle. Not that far. He's bound to run into Tsuna soon." Gokudera got onto his feet as well, took the portrait from Yamamoto's hands and set it down in one corner, with other paintings. "Since I've released him already, I'd rather not look at his picture anymore. Guy gives me the creeps."

Gokudera turned around and reached into his pockets. He pulled out a zippo and a cigarette. In one swift motion, he brought the cigarette to his mouth and lit it, then threw the zippo onto his bed. "Now that's done, I may finally get some freakin' peace."

"Gokudera."

A strong hand reached out from behind him and snatched the cigarette away. Yamamoto quickly put the light out on the ash tray sitting on top of the bedside table and sighed. "Not eating right and then smoking inside your own room. Seriously." He caught Gokudera's chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted his face up, making the other turn bright red. "You've turned even paler and your lips have become a bit gray. Maybe I should drop by more often…?"

A short pause of breath. "I-idiot! I'll be fine even if you don't drop by! And I've been smoking for years! My lips are bound to have that color!"

How could Gokudera have forgotten? There was the matter with Yamamoto's unusual change in behavior and the unprecedented reactions he manages to draw out from the other male. Before Gokudera's ability was discovered, Yamamoto was not as close to him. It was more like he blended into the picture of their group, and Gokudera only acknowledged him as an individual when it concerned Tsuna or their one-sided rivalry. Lately, though, Yamamoto has become a more prominent presence than Tsuna. The latter, Gokudera only saw during the school, study sessions or outings with their other friends. Yamamoto, on the other hand, came on a regular basis after he found out about Gokudera's power. _It's been a month_. He dropped by even more frequently (usually with food) after Tsuna came to him, asking him to do that portrait.

Gokudera was not dumb. He knew Yamamaoto being able to distract him from Tsuna, no matter how short a time, meant something, but with all that unresolved emotional turmoil and torment from the past made it impossible to know what it really meant.

It could be anything. Gratitude for being there for him, desperation to have someone to divert his attention, or even misunderstood anger.

Or budding affection. Gokudera considered it. Why not? He had fallen in love once. He would probably know the symptoms already. But everything was still hazy and unsure.

Besides…

"Yamamoto."

The lanky fifteen-year old looked from the portraits he was admiring. "Yeah?"

"D-don't you…?" Gokudera ran his hand through his hair. Damn. Why was it so hard?

"Do I…?"

"A-a phantom. Don't you have one too?"

Yamamoto's smile fell. Gokudera found his expression unfitting. Yamamoto was _always _smiling.

"Why…do you ask all of a sudden?"

"A portrait." Gokudera clasped a hand over Yamamoto's. "You've been doing so much for me," he said in that voice that showed he was trying hard to still sound tough," I figured a portrait for you as well wouldn't hurt."

Tapping into Yamamoto's heart was easier than he had expected. Perhaps his defenses were down, or he really just wore his heart on his sleeve. The image Gokudera wanted came almost quickly, though most of it was in a blur. He was quick to make out the pale hair and part of the name—"To"—but before he could even see the colors in his mind or hear another syllable of the name, Yamamoto yanked his hand away. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"What does it look like? I'm picturing your phantom so I can draw a portrait! Damnit!"

A frowning Yamamoto was weird. An agitated one was plain discomforting.

"I didn't say that I wanted you to make me one of those portraits of yours!"

"Didn't I tell you already? I'm giving it to you in return for your help!"

"I didn't want anything in return! I don't want any created lovers!"

"What's your fuckin' damage?!" Gokudera pulled his wrist away from Yamamoto's tightening grip. He was really beginning to get infuriated. "You have a phantom in there! I saw it! People normally _want _to bring those phantoms to life!"

"Well I don't!"Yamamoto turned away from him, a hand over his eyes and shoulders moving in time with his ragged breaths.

Gokudera felt a sharp pain in his chest. "W-why not?" _You always look so happy. I just wanted to see how much happier you can be if you're with the one you…_

"You really want to know?" Yamamoto turned back to him with eyes that made Gokudera shiver. The taller took a step forward; the other took a step back. Yamamoto cornered Gokudera against the bed. The former placed a hand on the painter's shoulder and pushed him down onto the mattress, moving his body along so that they ended up with Gokudera lying on his back and Yamamoto with his hands at the sides of his face and with one knee propped up on the bed making him half-straddle the other's waist.

"What're you—" Gokudera tried to push him away, but the hands that were gently comforting just a while ago held his wrists above his head. He tried to look up at the other's face but the fluorescent lamp above them bathed his features in blacks and dark grays. "Y-Yama—"

"You want to see my phantom, don't you?" Yamamoto leaned in close, and Gokudera caught the musky smell of soap. He must have gone home to bathe after baseball practice before dropping by. "Through the overflow of emotions. That's how you do it, right?"

Ah, and he thought Yamamoto was not listening when he explained everything before.

"I was trying to hold back because I don't know how it would affect you but—"

Lips crashed down on Gokudera's own in a passionate kiss. His mind was stunned but he found his body reacting on its own, his head lifting off the bed to respond to the kiss and his eyes closing to revel in the sweet feeling of the emotion Yamamoto was showering him with.

He jerked upward as his power overwhelmed him. He was not used to having such a large amount of emotion being so close to him. It was like being tied to a chair, slowly and painfully being drowned by buckets of water poured onto his face. His mind felt like a computer going haywire. He could hear so many voices, see so many colors. He could not even gather enough focus to grope for the image he wanted.

"…to…Hayato…"

Gokudera's eyes snapped open. In that brief moment when he managed to pull himself out of that pool of mixed emotions, he finally got a clear picture of Yamamoto's phantom.

He swore his power must have backfired on him. The phantom staring back at him was no other than himself.

"–dera! Gokudera!" He was back inside his body, and Yamamoto was looking down at him, like he was ready to cry any moment. "Oh god…I'm sorry, Gokudera! I was—"

Gokudera pressed his hand against Yamamoto's mouth, effectively shutting him up. He tried to sit up, his head still spinning from the shock of being mentally bombarded by so many things all at the same time. Yamamoto placed a hand on his arm to help him up, keeping a fair distance between the two of them.

"I'm really sorry, Gokudera! I don't know what—"

The painter grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down so that their eyes were level. His head still hurt, but damn he _needed_ to know. "Quit your babbling and tell me whether what I saw was right or not! With me, you're…you're…" He _knew_ his face looked somewhere between a strawberry and a tomato.

Yamamoto sighed and broke away from him. He rubbed the back of his neck with shaking fingers. "Y-yeah…for a long time now…I…I was supposed to tell you before…but then you…Tsuna…"

If he was not sitting on the bed, Gokudera felt like he would have collapsed on the floor. "Are you telling me—"

"I knew you liked Tsuna, so I didn't try to get to you anymore, but…dammit…when I learned about your power and Tsuna asking you to make a portrait, I thought I finally had a chance. I knew you could easily sense someone else's feelings, so I did my best to keep it in. But…I'm sorry."

"Quit apologizing, damnit!" Gokudera growled in exasperation. He had the unspeakable urge to just hit the other boy on his head—just once, _just once_ in his lifetime. Well, he would have gone ahead and done it, if not for the rapid beating in his chest and the heat rising to his face. "If…if you've got something to say to somebody, just get it out! Keeping it in only makes it worse!" Yeah. Look who's talking.

Stop beating so fast. Stop it. Stop it.

"Then, I can…?" Yamamoto's face brightened. Gokudera just wanted to sink into the ground, to fly away, to be whisked away to Oz or to outer space. He just wanted to get away from there, away from the hopeful look in Yamamoto's eyes.

Just what did he say to make him look so damn happy?

Yamamoto got onto his knees on the bed. His eyes were focused only on the person in front of him, who was trying to evade his gaze as much as possible. "If…if I confess to you, do you think I have a chance?"

"I…I don't know!" Gokudera suddenly found the white linen under his hands so interesting.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yamamoto getting nearer. "What do you mean you don't know? It should be easy to answer, right?"

How should he know? He was the one with the unwanted power, a freshly broken heart, _and_ a guy who was practically confessing to him without saying anything and was actually kneeling in front of him at the moment like he was in the middle of asking his hand in marriage. He did not have the capacity to think straight and figure things out!

"Gokudera?"

When did Yamamoto push him down onto the bed again? And when did Gokudera close his eyes?

"Just…tell me whether you can give me a chance or not. Then I won't ever ask you or bother you ever again."

"P-portrait…"

"I already told you I won't settle for a created lover, even if he looks exactly like you. You can't bring to life someone who already exists, can you?"

Gokudera shook his head. "But I'm not sure if—"

"A chance is all I want." Yamamoto's face was _so unbearably_ close. "Then if it doesn't work out for you, then it's fine."

The look in those eyes. Gokudera has seen that so many times.

_You can do it, right?_

_You must understand. I can't have anyone else._

_I still want to see him, Haya-chan, even if he's married to someone else…I still want to…_

_You should know, right, Gokudera-kun? If you love a person…wouldn't you want to have that person by your side?_

So this was how it felt like to have that look directed at him. To have someone willing to be with him rather than with a dream lover that he can bring to life.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Yamamoto's neck. He felt the taller male jerk slightly in surprise. "G-Go—"

"Fine then! You said you wanted a chance, so I'll give it to you! Just don't regret it! I can make your life a fucking hell, you know!"

Yamamoto fell as still as a log. Gokudera almost thought he had stopped breathing, and was about to break away when he got caught in a bone-crushing hug. "Thank you! Thank you, Gokudera! I love you! I love you so much!"

Gokudera would never (ever!) tell him how his heart almost jumped from those words, from the sheer joy in Yamamoto's voice, and from the way those lean arms refused to let him go. He would not allow that baseball idiot to have something to gloat about.

But for the moment, he would let Yamamoto hold him and let himself drown in the colors that danced behind his eyes.

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END

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**A/N: **This is what you get after hours of reading Katekyo manga, Nalis doujinshi, and reading random CLAMP. Oh yeah. And listening to the Nana soundtrack over and over. . Anyway, this is my second fic in the Forking Paths series. Yeah, and I also discovered my fangirling over TYL!Yamamoto (who looks waaaaaaayyyyyyyy cool). So there. Sorry for the lack of smut again…but I swear the next one will have a good dose of citrus! Sorry for the crappy writing, btw. Most of this was done during the night. And also, for those who did not expect the MukuTsuna, sorry. . And no, Goku here calls Tsuna by his name because he is NOT the Juudaime in this world, okay? As always, constructive criticism is welcome.


	3. Mayonaka

"**MAYONAKA"**

**By Yayoi Reito**

**Forking Paths Series Fic #3**

**A/N: ***hides* wah! This was a dare from a friend. She wanted me to try writing PWP, but as usual, I couldn't write good PWP, even after reading so many doujins. =_= I gave up and this came out. Initially didn't want to post this, but I don't want it rotting away in my notebook. Warning: this was done during a week of hell (both academically and outside), so please just pardon the damn thing. .

**Disclaimer:** If KHR was mine, it would have been a yaoi show, ok?

**Note:** Just in case you're wondering how old they are here, they're in TYL time, okay? 

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One of the things Yamamoto never expected to wake up to was a barely clothed man straddling his waist and with their faces so close that he could feel the other's warm breath on his lips. So when he found himself exactly in that position one night, the only conclusion he had was that years of working at the Paranormal Research Bureau has finally driven him insane.

Before he could even come up with a proper reaction to what he believed was the oddest moment of his life, he caught sight of the black whip-like tail protruding from where the stranger's spine met his hip.

Yamamoto brushed back the man's soft silver hair—he gulped when the stranger leaned in comfortably into his touch—and tucked the strands behind a pale ear. He found what he needed to identify the nature of his unexpected visitor: a small but intricate mark, the only part of which he can recognize was the shape of a crescent room. It was just below the other man's ear.

"I knew it. An incubus." He ran his thumb over the mark. He could already imagine how ecstatic the doctors at the Bureau would be were they the ones who came across the pale-haired creature. Yamamoto was definitely far from the level of the doctors, but he had enough experience working under them to be able to see that the incubus he was with was of an uncommon breed, given the color of hair, as well as the eyes, which were a bright green.

He made a move to get off the bed, to contact Tsuna or anyone else from the Bureau, but the incubus grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back down. Yamamoto felt the air escape his lungs as the creature's body fell on him. He had no time to recover as the incubus pulled him into a deep kiss, his agile tongue quickly taking advantage of the startled man's open mouth.

Yamamoto only had half a mind to curse himself for being careless, the other half lost in blinding ecstasy. He (and anyone who worked long enough in the Bureau) knew that a kiss from an incubus was dangerous. He could already feel the aphrodisiac in the other's saliva kicking in. He could barely recall what the doctors told him about it: that it was five times stronger than any aphrodisiac that man or nature could provide, and insurance of a quick capture of their "prey."

He managed to raise his shaking arms, with the intention of pushing the other male away then holding him down. The incubus looked slender and frail enough to be easily overpowered—if not for the lust already overpowering Yamamoto himself.

He grabbed the incubus' shoulders, but instead of pushing him away, as he originally intended, he found himself pushing the creature down on the bed and then climbing atop him, reversing their earlier positions. Their heated kiss continued; this time, Yamamoto as the one doing the ravishing. His lips traveled down to the other's jaw, down his neck, down to his collarbone. The incubus mewled softly as Yamamoto bit the thin skin over the bone.

The dark-haired man pulled back and in a fit of unrestrained hunger almost ripped his own shirt off. He returned to the passionate liplock with the incubus, at the same time clawing at the other's clothes—an oversized shirt too large to effectively cling to his slender frame. It gave little resistance to Yamamoto's actions, and he was soon able to tear it in two, disposing of it on the floor.

Yamamoto's eyes drank in the sight of the completely naked incubus, all flushed and quivering and aroused. His hands were gripping the pillows under his head tightly, his legs were spread open and shaking, and his straining erection was already dripping with pre-cum.

The incubus thrust his hips upward to rub against Yamamoto, and the latter thought the friction and the feel of the fabric of his pants separating them were enough to kill him. He immediately fumbled with the drawstring of his trousers and kicked them off, letting them join the other clothes on the floor. He hissed at the feeling of skin against skin as the silver-haired male thrust up again, and he let out a wanton moan.

"Ya…Yama…moto…Yamamo…to…" Yamamoto did not straight away realize that the voice saying his name belonged to the figure underneath him. The incubus muttered his name over and over as the taller man showered his torso with kisses.

Yamamoto ran his tongue around one pert nipple, eliciting a pleasured gasp from his—for the moment, at least—lover. "Tell me your name," he demanded in a husky voice.

"Ha…Hayato…"

A nice name, Yamamoto thought. He placed his hands on the inside of Hayato's thighs and spread his legs apart. He could hear the little mewls and moans as he playfully licked around the base of his manhood. He liked the sounds, and would have gone on teasing if not for the unbearable effect on him.

Hayato's hips bucked from the bed as his partner took him into his mouth. He squirmed wildly, and Yamamoto had to grip his hips firmly to keep him from moving so much. The incubus loved being loud, apparently, and Yamamoto found himself in no way complaining.

He kept one hand on the other's leg and let the other travel down to Hayato's entrance. He pushed one finger in, mouth still occupied with the other man's erection. Hayato's moans grew louder and his movements, more frantic.

"Yama…ah…Yamamoto…ma…more…"

The dark-haired male pushed in a second finger, and then a third. Hayato groaned as the warmth of Yamamoto's mouth around his member disappeared. His partner had pulled back to focus on preparing him. The aphrodisiac had fully taken over his system, and Yamamoto felt himself nearing his limit. He withdrew his fingers and thrust himself in, gasping at the tightness that surrounded him. As he began rocking his hips, his "lover's" thin arms went around his neck and brought him closer. His legs also went around his Yamamoto's waist, pushing him forward in time with his thrusts so that he was buried deeper in the incubus' heat.

With their faces so close, Yamamoto could better see the details of his lover: bright green eyes half shut and with tears forming at the corners, making them glisten underneath the yellowish fluorescent light' mouth slightly opened, the top set of teeth partly visible, biting the lower lip in an attempt to suppress moans; cheeks flushed, and the bright red blush very noticeable against the creamy complexion; and silver hair, damp with sweat, fanning out on the pillow underneath him.

Yamamoto dipped his head and caught Hayato's lips in another frenzied kiss. This time, it was his tongue which coerced Hayato's to respond. The incubus was more than willing to do so, moaning into the other man's mouth and nipping affectionately at Yamamoto's lower lip.

The dominant one winced as he felt Hayato's teeth bite his lip a bit too deeply, enough to draw a trickle of red blood. He also felt sharp nails digging into the skin of his back. He paused momentarily to see what drew such a fierce reaction from his partner, and he found Hayato with his head thrown back, mouth opened in a silent scream.

"T-there," Hayato muttered, pushing back against him. "There…feels good…"

"Ah." Yamamoto chuckled softly. "I see, then." He turned Hayato onto his side and lifted one smooth leg onto his shoulder. He resumed the rocking of his hips, this time angling his thrusts to hit the spot that drove the other crazy.

It was not long before he felt his climax building. His body responded by increasing his speed, making him slam almost desperately into the incubus. The silver-haired male let out a loud scream as he reached his peak, his seminal fluids staining the bedsheets that were tangled in his legs. Yamamoto came almost simultaneously due to having Hayato's muscles constrict around his member and driving him over the edge.

Yamamoto collapsed on top of his lover, both of them spent after such a rigorous round of sex. He did not even have enough strength to roll off the other. Instead, he fell asleep in that position, head buried in the crook of Hayato's neck and with some soft strands of hair brushing against his forehead.

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The next day, Yamamoto found himself sitting in Tsuna's office, feeling completely drained and drowsy. He woke up that morning alone in his bed, his arm draped over the side of the bed where Hayato was supposed to be. He tried to look for the slender creature throughout his apartment, but a call from Tsuna cut his search short. His friend asked him to drop by the Bureau as soon as possible, and that was why he was currently sitting in the said friend's office, slumped against the cushion-backed chair and teetering on the border between consciousness and slumber.

The small click of the door opening alerted him of his friend's arrival, but he did not bother to turn in his seat. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Yamamoto. Reborn didn't allow me to leave the conference room until I've finished signing all the documents."

"No problem." His ears picked up the slightly muffled sound of shoes walking on the carpeted floor. The sounds often overlapped, though. Tsuna had a companion, who either did not bother to let Yamamoto know of his/her presence. He instantly thought of Hibari, Mukuro or Chrome. All three fit Yamamoto's idea of who could be with Tsuna.

Tsuna entered Yamamoto's line of sight, sighing and loosening the tie around his neck. He took his seat behind the mahogany desk the sleepy young man was sitting a few inches away from. "I'm really sorry for asking you to come so early in the morning."

"I told you already. It's no problem." Yamamoto let out a yawn and shrugged. "Though I am wondering a bit why. Are there any problems?"

"Nothing big actually." The brunette flashed a goofy grin and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's really just a small problem, but we're gonna need your help. Remember when the branch in Italy contacted us?"

"Three weeks ago?"

"Yes. And you remember Dr. Shamal, don't you?"

"The guy in the white coat that arrived two days ago."

"Well, you see, Dr. Shamal was the representative from Italy, He got sent here because he was supposed to escort someone that the Italy branch wanted us to take a look at. A Rare."

Yamamoto nodded absent-mindedly. The word "Rare" triggered a memory of teary green eyes and swollen pink lips.

"Apparently, the Rare in question, according to their report, 'refused all previous efforts to socialize.'"

"And by that, you mean refused to mate?" Yamamoto did not need any of the euphemisms the doctor used. He worked long enough to know how they talked.

"Uhm…yes…and that is why we need you to help out."

"Me?" The drowsiness suddenly slipped from Yamamoto's eyes in surprise. "Why?"

"They wanted me to look for a mate." Yamamoto almost jumped from his seat when he heard the voice. He turned around sharply and found Hayato standing behind him, dressed in clothes that made him appear more like a foreign male model than an incubus under the care of the Bureau. He watched with his mouth agape as the incubus took the seat beside his, settling down in a manner so different from the lustful creature he had embraced the night before.

"Uh…This is Gokudera Hayato-kun, the one we're supposed to look after. He's…the Rare I was talking to you about."

"Se-seriously?"

Hayato hn-ed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I told them I didn't need a stupid mate as long as I can serve Juudaime, but then you had to come along and…" His face turned red and he cupped a hand over his mouth. He turned his head away from the man whose bed he was in just recently. Yamamoto gaped at him in disbelief.

Tsuna, caught awkwardly in between his stupefied friend and the flustered incubus, broke the silence with a nervous laugh. "Ah well, you see, even though Gokudera-kun is an incubus, he's not as…prone to…sexual urges as the others would be. The doctors said it might be because of him being a Rare, so he was sent here along with Dr. Shamal. You were not able to see him that day, but apparently he caught a glimpse of you before you left and—"

"Juudaime! You don't have to sully your mouth by saying such things! I'm sorry that my instinct makes me so shameless!"

"N-no, not really, Gokudera-kun. Actually, the doctors back in Italy would be glad to know that you've managed to find a mate."

Yamamoto blinked owlishly. "Wait. You don't mean…"

"Agh!" Hayato jumped onto his feet and faced the dark-haired man. He pointed a finger at him, eyes fixed in a cold glare. "You have to pay for this humiliation! Just when I finally get to work for Juudaime, you had to appear and—"

"Just wait a minute!" Yamamoto grabbed his wrist and stood up, their faces getting closer without him being conscious of it. "Why are you blaming me? You're the one who showed up in my bed and seduced me!"

"G-get away!" Hayato was curiously getting redder. "G-get the fuck away from me!" He struggled to wrestle his wrist away from the other man's grasp, but Yamamoto only grabbed his other hand to stop him.

"Y-Yamamoto! Wait!" Tsuna got up from his seat, alerted by the display before him. "Maybe you shouldn't—"

Tsuna was unable to finish what he wanted to say for Hayato suddenly fell against the man holding him. Yamamoto was unable to maintain his balance and fell onto his bottom, with the incubus clinging tightly to his shirt. "W-wha—Haya—"

"Yama…moto…" The taller man felt a sense of déjà vu when he found a pair of half-lidded eyes staring up at him. Hayato's breathing quickened and the red hue of his cheeks grew more noticeable.

The one pinned down gulped. He could already feel his body responding, and not even the fact that Tsuna was in the same room, probably dumbfounded or utterly confused by what he was seeing, managed to stop his body from being affected.

He heard a shaky laugh. Tsuna. "Ah…I was going to warn you to not get too close to Gokudera-kun. He's still an incubus, and since…well…you are his mate, your scent is…sort of like and aphrodisiac."

"Ah, what?!"

Tsuna laughed shakily again, purposely avoiding looking at his two companions. He started inching towards the door. "I should be going now. Reborn told me it wouldn't be nice to stop Gokudera-kun when he's like this already…and he also said it's not easy to stop a Rare…We already had a hard time tracking him down when he disappeared yesterday…"

"Oi! Tsuna! Wait! You seriously can't just leave us here!" Yamamoto tried to reach for the brunette, but Hayato had already pushed him down and was fumbling with the button of his shirt.

"I'm really sorry, Yamamoto!" Tsuna slipped out of the door, leaving his head peeking out and bowed in apology. "Reborn said it would be good for Gokudera-kun to do 'it.' And don't worry about the office! I'm really sorry!" And then he disappeared completely, locking the door behind him.

_Oh crap! _was the last thing that crossed Yamamoto's mind before Hayato grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a rough kiss.

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End

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**A/N: ***hides behind a metal wall to protect herself from flying tomatoes* I know it's totally random! But I really can't control how my mind works sometimes! And I'm really sorry for the randomness with Tsuna! *covers Tsuna's innocent eyes* I'm really sorry for having to make you see that, Tsuna-kun!!!! . I will stop with the random brainfarts now. =_= I might go do some actual KHR-verse fics, that is if I manage to stay alive under school pressure. =_= So see you next fic! *goes off to die now*

P.S. It's weird, but I find Gokudera to be the fierce-uke type, though a cute type Goku is as equally unbearable to write.


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